Flickers of Hope
by Fireclaw
Summary: The beginning of an experiment. Chappy 2 up, sorry bout taking so long
1. Elegy of the Soul

Chapter One  
  
  
  
  
  
Elegy of the Soul  
  
In one of the myriad rooms of a dark castle that is hidden from the rest of the world, you shall hear me play my nostalgic elegy. The castle is somewhere in the European area for that is where I remember I had last wandered to. The countless sorrows of my life are brought into this world; in eventide of this day through this piece is where my soul dwells, part of my soul, the part that belongs to me. My cold eyes are closed as I play; if they where open, they would show an emotion, sorrow. In this elegy I summon each pain of my life from the bottom of my mind, and into this dreamless dimension of pain that I have created.  
  
To an open window do my now open eyes gaze to, my silver hair shining proudly as it always did, to see the sunset, the only beam of light that came into this room that was already fading. The red, orange, and yellow colors of the sunset clashing with the dark blue sky that would soon succumb to the darkness of the night. Yet still my ever incessant poignant melody is played, so bitter-sweet is it, like life, so is this piece of music I created, I brought to life with my instrument, the cello, and fulfilled its meaning of its existence. As now, my hands are naked without their gloves, my right hand pushing, no falling gently yet firmly on the cold dark gray strings on the neck of the beautifully carved instrument, once in a while shifting to a different octave in the memorized elegy. This elegy, my elegy was my own lullaby every night at this time of day do I play it. The elegy was a summary of my life's work, sometimes sinister, sometimes melancholy, forbidding; yet it always remains cold and distant.  
  
For a few months now have I ended for a short duration my vagabond days, dwelling in this dark castle lost somewhere in this world we call Earth, no one seem to notice it, yet there was no one other than myself is in this town where the old castle stood. It was an eerie and ghostly like those fairy tales from my childhood about beasts that dwell in their shadow fortresses that were as dark and as forbidding as themselves. How fitting. I am the beast, I am the self-appointed master of this castle as long as I stay here, and these few months, I have atoned my sins, and lived with it. Though I am not alone in this castle of the eerie cacophony, no I am not and nor will I ever be as long as I live. Bound to another being, a being that is me.yet it is not I. I speak in riddles forgive me. It is the nature of my friend, my enemy, and my companion all in one. He, no it is the reason that I suffer, it is the reason I am what I am, the reason that I love and hate myself. I call my companion Unborn for it is as it is stated, unborn. It is the creature that I was brought to life with, the creature that dwells in the corner of my heart. It was never born; it was at once a being, now dead. Yet in my birth, it's long dead spirit became one with my own. I know that Unborn had no choice, we were ironically created of the same essence and we, two souls became one.  
  
My song, it continues still, long is it, yet so long is my ordeals that I do regret so often. To do something as alien as to cry, oh how I long to shed those God-forsaken tears and release the pain that has accumulated in my heart, to cry out, how I vainly dreamed to release that emotion, to scream to the world for creating my sorrowful being, which is half unborn. It listens to my song, and somehow the creature comforts me, pities me, and contributes to the elegy's bitter-sweetness. So beautiful the song is, so much that it is painful. At this time, the Unborn and I were at a simple coalition. This was our time for solitude. To me this song that I play, it is like a conflagration spreading from the heart to every corner of my mind, where a shadow, myself, stand hidden in those very same flames of rebirth. Rebirth.such a vile thing. How could I ask of it? I am the dead and the living combine in one. I have been defeated, yes. A few times yet still do I survive on, my enemies in their slumber would abruptly wake up appalled to know that I, Xion the Unborn am still very much alive. Man and Zoanthrope alike would tremble at the thought of me and my counterpart that I lovingly call demon and would the jump out of their warm beds in terror. I know that I hold an apathetic emotion to the world, and emotionless and the best times. But that is how I have survived but truly I am not so. I wait for the day when I shall be edulcorated, and I long for it. Nevermore, here I still am, in this void of my creation, my demise.  
  
The sunset has faded, and ominous clouds have taken its place. Pretty little things Those clouds were always beckoning my child-like curiosity in me. The elegy, it was finished. After an hour at the least, there was no clock in this bastion, it had ended for today for it is a daily routine for these past months. The Unborn stirs. I silently got up with inhumanly grace; the grace that the Unborn gave me it is a blessing, and a curse. Kneeling down I gently packed away my cello, locking it away with the rest of my memories that had previously ran amok through this room. My pain was tucked away in the back of my mind again and my once sorrowful eyes became eyes radiating an icy fire yet they remain nonchalant. Pale is my handsome face, cold and with an expression that showed mastery, and subtle manipulation. Yes, I can be very subtle if I feel it is needed though usually I do more.  
  
I had lost the power of the Tabula, yet it was for the better. I did not need it. Forgive me my sister, you are of the past, there is no other way for me to free you. Free yourself of this world, if you still dwell in the land of the living, go to ultimate freedom. I do not seek revenge or retribution no I do not. I don't know what I seek and it is that which I am searching for. I walked to the balcony of the castle, my footsteps silent, my lips curved in a sardonic smile, aimed at no one in particular. From my red treachcoat I pulled out my black gloves and slipped them on my calloused fingers. The night air refreshes me, and temporary released me of my insomnia of the night, loosening those tense imaginary strings inside of me. As the cold breeze passed by, it was strong, strong enough to pull a single loose rose from its vines that entangled around the balcony. I languidly extended one of my hands slight to catch it as it came flying by. I paid no heed to the cold that surrounded me in a freezing aurora, I stood silently before lowering my hand that held the rose and extended my other. Calmly I did this, also in a languid moment, as I manipulated my form and summoned the power that was bestowed upon me. My arm, it changed. From a pale human arm of flesh to a metallic silver hue, a strong hide that could harden and weaken at my will though it took much effort to do so. With this silver arm did protrude a large blade-like membrane that came from the wrist to the elbow. With this demonic looking arm, my elbow bended though the blade still was in the same position. If one had not notice already, I could move the blade freely in 360( if I wished. I had learned how manipulate much of my form. It came most useful in battles that I take seriously though I rarely do. The blade moves though the arm does not, slicing the air, and to the process warping the area around it like an extremely miniature weak black hole. At the end there was no wind.  
  
I looked at what I held, a rose. To be more exact a white rose. What a coincidence. As I had been playing a song of deaths and that word, rebirth, here I was holding a carnation that signified death and rebirth. My other arm became human once more. My sensitive ears pick up another, his presence has hidden from me, only the best fighters had the ability to completely erase there presence, to slow down their heartbeat to almost nothing and still survive, to breath so quietly, to walk with feet light enough to be seen somewhat of a float, he did very well. I still held in my head without turning, my reply to the now seen male.  
  
"Its been a while.Long."  
  
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Alrightly my first chapter of my first fanfiction done. Well I am putting the disclaimer here. I do not own Bloody Roar, though I do wish I did. Well I don't really know what I am going to do with this story though I think it's going to be pretty long if I do continue on. And of course this story isn't focused on Xion, I just wanted to start with him because he is one of my favorite characters being silver haired and all. If anyone finds a spelling or most likely a grammatical error, please e-mail it to me at tigerclaw192@aol.com. Thank you for reading my first chapter. Arigato! Don't forget ta review. 


	2. Shadows Revealed to Dream or not to Drea...

Hiya itsa me Fireclaw. I finally finished Chapter Two in which I actually give the story a beginning plot, sorry about all the wait and stuff, been really really busy. Hey for three weeks I had testing and them midterms for school, Chinese School, and Sensei been making me work on some other techniques that I was to practice. Oh yeah I also took the SAT for the MTS, was interesting. I thought the cello part of the test was especially amusing. See there is my excuse for not getting the 2nd chappy up sooner.  
  
I want to personally thank everyone that is reading this right now, especially those that have already reviewed it. I also want to thank NeoDragonZero for putting up with my lame antics on AIM and spending the time to actually help me with the story grammatical wise. He is really a great guy. K now here is my second chapter... Can't figure out how to work html all things done in ~**~ is a person's thoughts  
  
Disclaimer- don't own Bloody Roar  
Pain shot through her arm as the fist of her attacker connected with her stomach with surprising strength. She hadn't expected such strength so soon. The impact made her double over, falling to her knees. The punch knocked the wind out of her. Still, she was trained much better than to give up so soon. The fight had only just begun. Picking herself up, the mercenary went upward slowly. If one brought oneself up too fast, one could not see where the next attack would come. That could be the end of the fight as well as her life. She smiled to herself, she was right as usual. If she had shot up she would not have seen her attacker's muscles coil, and his fist curl in a tight ball. And too bad, reading body motion was a specialty of hers. If one's movements were shown too soon, that too could end the fight. The punch came just as she suspected, the few seconds of speculation were indeed all she needed. With her lithe form, dodging easily to the left, her right hand grabbed onto the opponent. It didn't matter who she was fighting so long as she was fighting. The blond mercenary lived to fight.  
  
Her attack was quick, her hand still grabbing the adversary's arm that had extended to punch, very firmly, around the bottom of the hand, exactly were the pressure point of the wrist was. She knew it hurt, a lot. Pressure points was where the most vital veins were in the body; break one, you kill or mortally wound the one you apply on, though the damage is different, it depended on which pressure point you hit. Her right hand went into a horizontal attack, at the other's side of the neck, nearly in the middle yet not quite. It was another pressure point. She liked to fight, though she never took any unnecessary chances. The quick assault did the trick and the other fell to the ground. Very fast thinking was done, and as by habit, she landed a very strong kick to the stomach sending the antagonist flying a few inches. She bent down to check his pulse; the guy seemed to be unconscious.  
  
Too late, it was a feint. With a graceful movement, he had pulled out a dagger with his right had; about ten inches long give or take a few mm, and with a fluid strike and struck her cheek with the shining blade. She pulled herself off of most of the attack though the blond could not dodge all of it; it was far beyond her to pull her head away. Her cheek was burning, crimson flowing freely from her cheek. Annoyance displayed itself on her features, seeing as he had had the honor of drawing first blood. Yet it was part of the danger, the ultimate ecstasy. It fueled her burning spirit. Her fist and the rest of the body went into battle position. She was ready, her battle rhythm was playing in her mind, and she was ready, all so ready to continue the game.  
  
The blade sang through the air, in an upward strike. It was done; He had underestimated her, calculating on his luck of the last attack. Her right arm grab the others wrist, countering all his strength with the speed that she had trained her arm with, cutting off the blade from the flesh, shoving it closer to her. There was a height difference. Since she was shorter than the other, she bent the arm carefully yet with forceful strength and careful consideration. That was the problem with armbars, if one didn't execute them correctly, one could end up breaking or spraining their own arm. Her left hand grabbed the other at the elbow joint, as she pulled downward, then slowly twisting the arm in such a manner that the shoulder would hurt. The technique was from judo, called Ude Garami*. Judo was a great art to know, especially for hand to hand or close combat. She let go of her right hand and removed the dagger. With the hilt the blond mercenary hit the antagonist's neck, the exact place she had struck before. This time she felt the pulse weaken. He had to be unconscious. No human could still be conscious. She allowed him to fall to the ground.  
  
She was peeved. All that Shina Gado had done was walked next to a supposedly abandoned alley in the middle of Los Angeles, California, and then was suddenly pulled from the street into that alley by a stranger. For some reason, she didn't think it was the average thug. She turned her head towards him. The guy had golden brown hair only a shade from being strawberry blond, with tawny eyes that reminded her of a bird of prey. His was about her age, 22; at least he looked like it.  
  
She heard a slight sound, her head snapped back and she turned to see what caused the sound. The thug had got up. No, that was impossible, that shouldn't happen. No human could do such a thing. With a burst of light that shone through the darkened alley, the once human thug became that of a golden griffin.  
  
Golden were the feathered wings that shone like the sun itself, so incandescent that it hurt her eyes. The head was like a golden eagle; thankfully, its head was not as bright as the wing that was adorned on the griffin's back, carried in such a way that a king would wear his crown. Actually the head was the same shade as the thug's hair. The body that it stood on, on two legs, humanoid shaped, were that of a horse. Its body was lighter than the head, regular golden tan if golden tan was such a regular color. A tail topped off the appearance.  
  
She sighed, of course it wasn't human, it was a zoanthrope. Now a zoanthrope was a human that had the power to transform into a certain beast. Think lycanthrope though they did not fully transform. The zoanthropes stood on two legs with humanoid bodies. They were hybrids. Except for Xion, she had never seemed any mythical beasts, yet the Unborn was not her definition of a mythical beats, though the silver demon-like beast was far from an average zoanthrope. She readied herself for battle once more.  
  
What was this? She couldn't move. It wasn't that she was paralyzed in fear, it was like someone was holding her back, and they did a great job at it. She tried everything she could to move; yet nothing worked. She had never felt so helpless. Still she would take whatever was dished out to her head on. A fine day it would be when she, Shina Gado would be afraid of pain. The only thing she was afraid of was boredom, and being caged. She was definitely not bored, but she was caged to a spot, like a canary cornered while the cat comes closer to annihilate the poor yellow bird.  
  
She had more to worry about for out of nowhere the golden griffon was joined by two others, hidden in shadow, or rather engulfed in it.  
  
~How did I get into this?~  
  
They were coming, closer and closer. Sweat beaded down from her scalp, a stinging effect forming as the sweat connected to the wound at the cheek. Yet the sweat was not from fear, it was the radiance of the golden beast, combined with the darkness of the other two. The air was like miasma, the two powers of dark and light, yin and yang, filling the air. She had trouble breathing. The pounding of the hoofed footsteps filled her ears.  
  
The pounding stopped; they were close to her, surrounding her. She doubted that she could take them all on at once. This was not good; the odds were not in her favor. One look into the golden beast's tawny eyes brought bloodlust to her own. She was of a feral spirit; the thought of the sacred red flowing down the beast's golden hide was enough for ferocity to come into mind. She closed her eyes; she couldn't do anything, not yet, and maybe for the rest of her life. If she could, she wanted to die fighting, though not even her mouth could move let alone her fist or feet. She struggled, at least her mind did.  
  
~C'mon, something has to work!!~ Her mind raged.  
  
One of the shadow ones raised its talons, those ivory colored blades as if to strike her down.  
  
~Not as if, as to strike me down~  
  
Those few seconds where each seemed an eternity, her heartbeat slowing, her eyes that were paralyzed seemed to be able to move. They hid the blue; the eyelids did, waiting to embrace heaven or hell.  
  
Just as the talons would rip through her, a flash of green cloth and striped fur came hurling onto them, all of them. The angle that the beast had thrown itself onto the feathered hybrids allowed it to hit all of them.  
  
~Long, he's come to save me~  
  
The tiger zoanthrope, dressed in Chinese styled clothing, was fairing remarkably well. Shina knew her tiger-transforming friend as well as she knew herself, yet if she didn't think she could take on three of them, then she was positive that her friend could not. Their level, if it could be called one, was equal on the fighting basic. Yet with that feline grace and such malice, the tiger was untouchable. She did not see a single scratch upon the orange-white black striped fur. The beasts' silhouettes fought their own battle on the alley walls. All she could do was speculate. Her soul longed to join her friend on the battlefield.  
  
After a few minutes, the fighting had ceased. The victory went to the hero. The griffin zoanthropes seemingly lost hope. Opening their great wings they flew away; light with darkness. As they left she found that she was able to move. She ran to her friend, no questions asked.  
  
"Long," she hesitated, "I'm sorry that I wasn't able to help you, I couldn't move."  
  
What was she saying? She was showing weakness, the one thing that she had promised never to do; yet she had just broken it. Her thoughts subsided as the tiger's beautiful striped head turned, bearing in her mind, the face that resembled the calm, wise face of the man that she knew. From the side of the wall, she saw a shadow, a fast one, fleeting. She had always trusted instinct and instinct told her to move to the side. She did just that. Few seconds passed and all she could focus her eyes on was the black blade that was protruding from the tiger's stomach area.  
  
"LONG!" She cried as she ran towards the former assassin as he collapsed into her arms, reverting to his human form. She absentmindedly stroked her friend's hair. She was in shock. She wasn't able to help him for the second time. This was not a good day. She was useless. She gazed up, her eyes filled with retribution, rage, and sorrow. She would not cry, she would not cry. Long, her friend, the only one that understood her, the only one that she could understand fully. Those dreadful seconds were ragged, in which her breathing stopped; the world around her went in slow motion. Yet after so long did she feel the pulse of her friend stop. He had lost the battle of life and death. His face was cold and his hands were lifeless. It was as if the world had shattered. Her hands curled into tight fist, her nails clenching, digging into her skin. There was more pain in the world, more sorrowful endings then a simple death. If she had the power, she would have used every single way to revenge her fallen friend.  
  
"You bast-you killed him!!"  
  
Standing only a few feet away from her was the man, the man that held the black katana, the curved blade gleaming with blood, her friend's blood. He was dressed in a blood red sleeveless shirt, over it a thin black coat. On the coat she noticed the top right corner displayed a small emblem of two raven wings, in-between them being a red rising sun. He was wearing black pants of satin-like material. His face was slightly tanned, smooth and perfect. The nose was perfect, everything on that incredibly handsome face was perfect, from the dark brown eyes that you could swear were black, that seemed not to hold any pupils, to the black hair that was kept a few inches below the shoulder level. He could have been called vain if he was not holding the bloody katana and had such a sagacious and despair-filled expression on his face. The mix did not go well. Yet her sanity had long left her. Her friend had died saving her. Her friend had died saving her, she a top mercenary. He had died, Long had died saving her.  
  
"Life is only the painful compilation of sorrows and affliction, the way that we lived, we meaning the zoanthrope and humans. Death is our rapture, annihilation the eternal bliss, becoming free of restlessness. Life toys with human emotions, life toys with the pain of the zoanthrope, those that are different from humans, twisting human's fear into hatred. There is nothing you can do to change that; death follows those that stray from the living, giving those that fall from the light eternal grace. The pain, the famine, the famine of joy, love, and happiness, it is squeezed out of the human nature. What replaces it is a flood, a flood of hatred, bitterness, and those of the melancholic nature. Yet who is to blame for all of this, all of these sorrows of the world? There is none, it is incomplete. Your friend knew this; he is, or rather was, after all an assassin. He knew, he played in the intersection of life and death. Life, the human race, the zoanthrope race, it is so incomplete. There will be cleansing, to become complete. Mankind had doomed itself and paired itself with pain, therefore if anyone is to be happy, there must be cleansing. It shall be cleansed."  
  
All forms of hatred and vengeance fell from her; it was shed as his smooth flowing voice spoke, speaking a spell. What scared her was that the voice was perfectly sane. She had dealt with madmen before and he did not sound mad. No, a madman did not know he was mad, though sanity was always striped from them. All this one had was the honey words a snake would bait with, yet the snake was in despair, speaking in a tongue that not so many could understand, yet she did. She had felt some of the pain that he spoke so knowingly about, but the fact was that she understood. She knew what he meant about cleansing. That was mad, though it was only a logical idea that a person that grew up side by side with misery would think. She found her voice, slightly shaky.  
  
"Who are you, what do you want?"  
  
The murder smiled, his eyes brought back to focus; snapping out of a dream that was more like a paradoxical nightmare. She realized he was talking to himself, or more like to everything around him, even the dead buried under the cement ground.  
  
"I am called Pathos**, the emotion of sympathetic pity. It is the pity of the human race and its counterpart that I sympathize with. I am the dark image that hunts those that are tormented and give them rest. I will give all those that are tormented rest, one by one everyone shall be given happiness."  
  
She knew it. He, Pathos, wanted to kill everyone.  
  
"It's not all like that-"  
  
She was speaking to him, the one that killed Long, the sane madmen that called himself Pathos. She was speaking to him when she should have been a his throat, tearing out his organs with her nails.  
  
"-There is hope for the world; there is something people can do to end the suffering. Humans and zoanthropes are working together to end indifferences, misconceptions. Its not so bad, there is hope."  
  
"Only a mere flicker of it. The flame of hope is withering; every falsehood blows and makes the flame dimmer. If humans realized this, they would have done so long ago. It is no longer your time to speak, I will free your mind of your delusions. Do not fear, wake up to reality; join your friend."  
  
~Join my friend? Long? No I don't want to die.~  
  
Before she could react the attacker was already too close; far to close. Cold steel pierced her flesh. The world around her dimmed. Images around her were swirling to-and-fro, back and forth. She touched her stomach where the blade had been thrust. Blood covered her hands.  
  
IIf this is how dying feels, it isn't so bad. I'm so tired. Long I'm coming. Mom. Dad. I will be able to meet you.../I  
  
In a pool of her own blood, Shina Gado feel, slumping next to her friend.  
  
Pathos smiled, though somehow it was still sane; the smile that a boy would give his girlfriend after he had given her something special. It was a nice smile.  
  
"Wake up to reality and meet fate. I will be waiting on the other side."  
  
*Ude Garami, or bent arm lock, can be done many ways and from different positions in Kodokan Judo. The opponent's arm can be bent upwards towards the head or down towards the legs. It often uses considerable twisting action that can injure the shoulder as well as the primary target of the elbow joint. -  
  
**according to Webster;  
  
Pathos- Pronunciation: 'pA-"thÃs, -"thos, -"thOs also 'pa-; Function: noun; Etymology: Greek, suffering, experience, emotion, from paschein (aorist pathein) to experience, suffer; perhaps akin to Lithuanian kesti to suffer. Date: 1591. 1 : an element in experience or in artistic representation evoking pity or compassion; 2 : an emotion of sympathetic pity  
  
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Well um before anyone attempts to flame me about anything I want to mention look at the title of the chapter and the end of the first chapter to find where Long is. Don't forget to review, this is after all my first story. Thanks you again NeoDragonZero for helping again, it is much appreciated 


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